For several months before Lisa and her family moved in, they had the house completely renovated. At the same time they employed tree-specialists who cut out all the scrawny poplars and wild undergrowth in their woods.
In layman's terms, the junk was cut out, the woods was opened up, leaving only mature maples, beeches, and shag-bark hickories. The change in the property was startling. The house was both restored and improved. The surrounding woodland was renewed and tamed. All was made beautiful.
Once the work was complete, the long curving driveway swept majestically up to the lovely house, and dappled sunlight slipped bravely through the more-open slot of the canopy. And guess what?! The wide, grassy spaces alongside their long drive grew lush blue-green.
It appears I cannot get to the bottom of this disturbing lawnsmanship affliction. While it's difficult to determine who along Maple Lane introduced this conspiratorial golf-course-green ailment, nearly everyone along Maple Lane suffers with the illness. I alone remain uninfected. You may be assured I am fully inoculated.
But! All that aside, I confess I can't help liking Lisa and John, and their two young children. John and the kids're new to me. But Lisa goes back about twenty years. In the late eighties, she was one of those sparkly-cute, high-school girls who came to all the Friday-Night dances at John Glenn High School in nearby Bangor Township.
Of course, that was way back in that bravely idyllic period when there were such things as Friday-Night high-school dances, when various clubs did fund-raisers and such. Way back in those pristine days of my youth, Friday-Night dances were one of the the things that made the good old days GOOD. Unfortunately, some time in the early-nineties, kids got too cool for Friday-Night dances.
Still, before no-dance-cool flared-up and spoiled Friday nights, my wife and I were among the parents and teachers who chaperoned nearly every dance. We were the kind of teachers who would happily chaperon a dog-fight and bring along the bandages. What can I say? We just enjoyed watching kids play. And Lisa Schroeder was a treat to watch.
The boys all whispered that Lisa was hot. If hot meant she was self-possessed and bright, had a nice smile and a trim figure, carried herself proudly and dressed well, smiled brightly and greeted everyone warmly, knew all the current dances and bounced lightly around the dance-floor with her friends -- if that's what hot meant, then Lisa was, indeed, very hot. She was right outa "Happy Days." You just couldn't help liking her.
Lisa had so much going for her in good ways. She was bright and hardworking -- the kinda kid who completed her classroom assignments correctly and on time. She consistently got good grades. In a school chock-full of good kids, Lisa was one of the best. She didn't push herself. She rarely sought the lime-light. She was one of those common-sense kids I identified -- way back when I was a young teacher -- who was unique in that she was comfortable in her own skin. While kids said she was hot, teachers thought she had it all together.
In Lisa's case, we all had it right.
In fact, Lisa was one of those blessed kids all John Glenn's administrators, counselors, and teachers just knew -- thank you very much! -- was going to succeed very nicely as an adult. Her classmates knew that about Lisa too. You can criticize teachers and high-school kids all you want. And sometimes, maybe you'll be right. But most teachers and students know a good kid when they see one coming.
But you know what? Lisa fooled us all. In fact, she has succeeded much better than most of us predicted.
After Lisa graduated from high school, she became a realtor. And she's good at it, too. She has a pleasant, engaging personality. She has a knack for showing a house to its best advantage. She's honest in her dealings. She has developed a reputation for negotiating the fair price, for making both buyer and seller happy.
One result of all this is Lisa is consistently one of those rare realtors who moves property quickly. One of my friends in the real-estate business once told me that in our tri-county area, Lisa has become a seven-figure seller.
There's something quietly inspirational about having Lisa living nearby. Once or more in a week's time I see Lisa walking with her husband and children. I see her as she once was: filled with rich promise, delighting in her childhood, testing her youthful strengths, looking forward with excitement
I see her as she appears today: gently unfolding into increasing challenges as she gracefully matures and grows into her middle-years: successful business-person, sensitive and caring mother and wife. Lisa's a growing, learning being.
While Lisa may not be aware I'm even watching her, she is for me an uplifting example as I enter what may well be the final phases of my own life. She reminds me of the the good old days. She reminds me of my own youth, my own early dreams, my own good fortune as I've worked and grown throughout the early phases of my life.
Watching Lisa with her lovely family reminds me of my own long and happy marriage -- before the recent and untimely death of my beloved wife.
Lisa's like that optimistic and bumptious child inside me -- that restless Okay-Kid who continues to goad me. Lisa enlivens within me a powerful life-force, that in spite of everything I've recently lost, makes me want to hold fast my dreams, develop new dreams, and keep on growing.
Watching Lisa makes me turn inside, study myself, and ask "What's Next?"
However! I've known Lisa's husband, John, only a short while. Like Lisa, John's a very successful realtor. He's a busy guy: likable and quietly focused, growing as a loving husband, father, and energetic business-person. He and Lisa are a nicely matched set.
But the thing is: John has this one terrible problem that troubles me:
He cuts his lawn meticulously.
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